


His best laid plans always seem to blow up in his face

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: A Modicum of Humanity Makes Everything Harder [10]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day, date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9804197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Oswald groans and leans against the wall, squinting up at the sprinkler system and scowling. “How is it that you can plan an elaborate riddle based scavenger hunt and have nothing go wrong, but the moment I try to have a nice evening everything goes horribly?”





	

Oswald watches Ed as he moves stiffly across the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand and his other clenched around the head of his cane. It’s a pain day, he’d said this morning, and Oswald has somehow managed to not snap back with the fact that he’s always having a pain day, although he has to admit the stinging around his knee is most definitely not welcome when he’s trying to be a supportive, helpful husband.

But Ed is  _ trying _ . He’s just stiff, and in pain, and not entirely used to the fact that he’ll never wake up with the same leg he had before, and that’s just fine but it doesn’t make days like this any easier. He sits beside Oswald at their dining room table and nurses his cup of coffee, looking up tiredly a few times and smiling at Oswald whenever he catches Oswald looking.

“I can be roasted but I’m not a turkey. I can be ground but I’m not pepper. I can be pressed but I’m not a button. I can be brewed but I’m not beer. I’m a bean but I’m not magic.”

“I got a new roast in for that little cafe we own,” Oswald says as he pulls Ed’s mug away from his hands and takes a sip. “It’s a  _ very  _ good roast.”

“Somewhat nutty,” Ed comments, and takes the mug back.

“I thought Valentine’s Day would be a good day to unveil a new flavor. That’s next week, you know,” Oswald says idly as he flips to the next page of the paper.

He glances up when Ed sucks in a breath, and watches as he goes from surprised to sheepish to irritated, “crap,” Ed exclaims. “Oswald, I’m terribly sorry, but I haven’t planned anything this year.”

Oswald actually  _ wasn’t  _ fishing for secrets to the surprise Ed normally plans, surely some elaborate riddle hunt that will both irritate Oswald while somehow making him moony at the same time, but now that he knows it isn’t going to happen he’s surprised to find he’s actually somewhat disappointed. Not that he’s going to say that out loud, but the way Ed’s face falls suggests that maybe Oswald’s expression gave away his feelings on the matter, just a tad.

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s my year then isn’t it?” He asks, and he realizes what he’s said isn’t something he can take back but damn it he doesn’t want Ed to look like he’s a kicked puppy just because the holiday snuck up on him this year.

“Your year?”

“Ed, darling,” he sets down the paper and grabs Ed’s hands, “last year, while your leg was, well, we won’t go into details when we both  _ know _ , but we agreed to alternate, remember? I suppose you might’ve just had your dose of pain medication, but never fear, I have something planned already.”

“I am fairly certain that did not happen,” Ed says definitively.

“Well, it  _ did _ ,” Oswald insists, “and come Valentine's Day you’re not going to know what  _ hit  _ you.”

-

Three favors, a few bribes, and some overpriced tickets later Oswald has planned a very normal, very nice evening for himself and Ed. The dining room is private, the entertainment for tonight is a symphony orchestra known for some eclectic instrument choices (something Ed will surely appreciate even if Oswald has no interest in whatever a theremin is), and they’re going to end the day with a bath full of scented oils and bubbles. It’s calming, and peaceful, and that is probably why things begin going wrong the moment they’re seated at their table.

“Excuse me,” Oswald calls to their server, “but I believe I set up a very specific custom menu for our meal, and it most certainly did  _ not  _ include a white wine.”

“We're out of the wine you selected. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience. This is a selection we made instead, an excellent bottle from the same vineyard.”

“Yes, I can read,” Oswald himself and picks up the bottle. “But I selected a red, and you can be certain that if I select a red,” he hefts the bottle across the room, satisfied when it breaks against the tiled floor, “that you should replace it with a red!” He points angrily and shouts, “go get your manager!”

The server leaves quickly, and Oswald rubs his temples. Ed taps Oswald's hand, and he lets him take it, sighing as deft fingers massage his palm. “How is his entire city one giant disappointment?”

“It's Gotham,” Ed replies, and he brings Oswald's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles and smiling. “Really, who in their right mind thought you would overlook the wine selection?”

“Incompetent people, clearly,” Oswald sighs, smiling back. “Let's hope this was a fluke.”

It isn't.

The food is brought out at uneven times, the wine left on the table without a single courtesy refilling of their glasses, and although he's teased Ed in the past for his miniature spice containers he insists on keeping in his bag he's grateful for them now, because the food (once it arrives) is bland at best.

“We are never coming here again,” Oswald tells Ed as they leave, leftovers “forgotten” on the table. He gets into the passenger seat of Ed's car and closes his eyes. “I can only hope they get closed down because of a health violation.”

“Or you could bit the restaurant, Ed proposes, and Oswald glances over at him. “What better way to hurt them than to prove you can do better?”

Now that  _ is  _ tempting. “Perhaps. Tomorrow we can discuss the idea with the accountant. For now let's just get to the theater.”

-

Oswald was right on both counts regarding this symphony, because he cannot fathom finding the screeching thing in the back of the ensemble pleasant burned is transfixed, watching the player eave their hands over the thing (a strange, unappealing way to play and instrument) and nudging Oswald whether the weird mushroom-like staticky thing buzzes.

“It's a Tesla coil, and they've attached it to a keyboard,” he explains excitedly, but quietly, in their private balcony, “also known as a zeusaphone, the amount of electricity it puts off can stop a person's heart if touched during its operation.”

Oswald didn't really understand anything but the parts about a keyboard and potential death, but he can see how excited Ed is by the contraption, so he smiles and kisses him. At least one thing has gone right today.

Oswald returns his attention to the symphony and watches the static on the… whatever Ed called it, and watches the player, and oh, of course. He isn't surprised as much as he is weary, and Oswald rubs his eyes and groans.

“Are you getting a migraine?” Ed whispers.

“No,” but he will be, “but we need to make a calm yet brisk exit.” Ed searches his face, confused. “Recognize our little keyboard player?”

Ed looks down over their balcony at the band, and his jaw tenses. “Harley,” he growls, low and quiet, and he turns back to Oswald. “If they have a plan to conduct the current it could kill the entire crowd.”

“Well let's be sure to  _ not  _ be included then,” Oswald tells Ed, and Ed nods, getting up and offering his arm to Oswald, a grim smile on his face and stiffness in his elbow when Oswald takes it.

As they push back the thick curtains to their balcony and begin walking down the hall they hear a collective shout of surprise, and the sprinkler system in the hall turns on. They swear, and Ed points them towards the bathroom.

“Water conducts electricity,” Ed tells him. “And I'm going to assume the doors to the outside are guarded by Joker's men.”

Oswald groans and leans against the wall, squinting up at the sprinkler system and scowling. “How is it that you can plan an elaborate riddle based scavenger hunt and have nothing go wrong, but the  _ moment  _ I try to have a nice evening everything goes horribly?”

“It hasn't been horrible,” Ed says quietly, and Oswald looks at him, watching him get drenched from the sprinkler, and raises one eyebrow as if to ask “how the fuck?” and Ed smiles. “Because it's still been spent with someone I love, and your intentions were thoughtful and very much appreciated. Also, I found the first half of this concert rather enjoyable.”

Oswald smiles briefly back. “Well, I suppose that's very true. Time wasted with loved ones is still better than time alone. Although, I do wish I could make the  _ second  _ half of the concert enjoyable, but I have no ideas.”

“I have my kit in my bag,” Ed says, gesturing to his shoulder bag, grinning. “I remember you have your umbrella cane.”

“It's only for the rain I'm afraid.” Oswald says, and Ed shakes his head, letting water droplets fly, and gestures up to the “rain” coming down from the sprinklers. Oswald rolls his eyes and opens his umbrella, holding it out as an offering. Ed steps under it and kisses him.

“We're going to need this to keep some wires dry while I work,” he says, jostling the umbrella with his hand a bit and grinning excitedly. “Care to help me foil Joker's plans with me?”

“It's a  _ date _ .”

-

“ _ This  _ is how we should have spent the entire evening,” Oswald sighs. He sinks a few more inches into the steamy bathwater and swishes some of the bubbles around. He really must thank his past self for ensuring they have a bathtub that fits two people.

“In the bath?” Ed laughs a little as Oswald flicks bubbles at him. “But I found our evening rather enjoyable. Just like old times. It was exciting.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Oswald agrees. “I didn’t expect your  _ kit  _ to have knock out gas,” Oswald tells Ed quietly, tipping his head against Ed’s shoulder, “but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s hardly  _ new _ .”

“I like to be prepared,” Ed tells him. “I do wish I could develop a multiple use EMP, but the wires tend to overheat.”

“I doubt your need to use them comes up all that often.”

“More than you’d think,” Ed says, shrugging. “I don’t want to offend you Oswald, but I think I’ll make the plans for next year. As fun as this evening has been I think I’m a bit tired of dealing with people like Jerome Valeska when I’m trying to spend time with you.”

“I did lie, after all,” Oswald says, “about it being my year.”

“I assumed so. Still, it was a nice night. I did get quite a bit of satisfaction when I saw the look on Jim’s face when we exited the basement and not Bruce.”

“Now that  _ was  _ a definite highlight,” Oswald hums. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ed.”

“It’s really about the martyr, Saint Valentine. The holiday only adopted the connecting with romantic love-”

Oswald kisses him. “Please, love, for me, just stop talking and enjoy the bath.”


End file.
